Page 18 of Heartbeat Highway (Love Along Route 14)

L ily

Bo doesn’t let me sleep long, but it’s enough that I feel refreshed.

Maxim and Dan are waiting in front of the tour bus when we stumble out. “Man, I lost twenty bucks,” Maxim says. “We had a bet on whether or not you’d come out clothed.”

“Ha ha,” Bo says, squeezing me to his side.

“Also, I realize we never called dibs on K’s bed, so…dibs.” Maxim elbows Bo in the ribs.

Dan shakes his head. “We all need to get ready. We’re on in thirty.”

Cold fear snakes down my back. “I don’t have anything to wear. I brought this and jeans. Nothing I can perform in.” I saw those other women backstage. They are leather and lace and effortlessly cool. I’m essentially a Midwestern dairy maid in my little floral sundress.

Maxim and Dan exchange a look. “Don’t worry. We’ve got that covered.”

They hand me off to a woman named Janelle with a spike through her nose who does backup vocals for a big band-type group that plays rock songs. Janelle hustles me onto their tour bus—which is way messier than Howl’s—and proceeds to tug and spritz and paint me until I’m mostly numb.

When I look in the mirror, though, I see me.

Lily. The woman I used to be. Confident and daring, pretty and free.

Janelle’s put me in a white bustier, and you can see my push up bra through it.

My yellow hair is messily tossed around my head, and my lips and cheeks are blush pink.

I look like I’ve just been fucked, well and good.

“Wow,” I whisper. I turn in the mirror, admiring my full ass and the dip of my waist, set off by the snug-fitting jeans.

“You look amazing,” Janelle says in a deadpan. “Don’t forget to hydrate. The stage will dry you out faster than a desert.”

A gray-haired man wearing one headset over his ears and another around his neck races past us. “Howl’s on in five. Places.”

“You had better go.” Janelle pats my arm and lights a sweet-smelling vape. “These concerts move like molasses some nights, but today they’re booking it.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” I turn to Janelle, wanting to hug her, but she discreetly shakes her head no.

“Just tell Dan to call me.” After pointing in the direction of the stage, Janelle turns and leaves.

My heart pounds, so loud I swear I can hear it in the next county over. I join the guys backstage. Bo’s eyes widen when he sees me, and Maxim gives a low whistle. Dan, being Dan, just nods approval and stares anxiously at the stage.

“You look amazing,” Bo whispers in my ear, then nips at the lobe. A little thrill of pleasure chases away some of the fear.

But not a lot.

“I’m going to throw up,” I say, to no one and everyone.

“If you do, do it now, and don’t do it on my instrument,” Maxim says.

The tour’s emcee runs onstage in a spangly pink jumpsuit. I don’t know how she walks in those six-inch heeled boots. “And now, with a last minute substitute that they promise you will love, here’s Howl with Lily Davila!”

There’s a chorus of wolf howls at that, and we all run onstage. First Dan and Maxim, then Bo holds my hand and practically drags me up there with him.

I’m frozen in the glare of the spotlight. This is so many more people than I’ve ever sung in front of before. People are standing and cheering, clapping wildly. Bo tries to hand me a mic three times before I take it from him.

“I can’t do this,” I say, possibly to myself, but it’s entirely probable that the entire flipping place can hear me. My feet move backward, but I’m moving through a pit of quicksand.

Then I feel Bo’s hand on my elbow, drawing me forward. “Yes, you can. I’m right here with you.”

“I wish you could sing with me.” I don’t expect that. I don’t. It’s impossible to ask it of Bo. He never sings in public. If I have issues about it, Bo has Issues with a capital I. It isn’t fair of me even to have said it, but I had to. Just once.

Maxim plays a riff on the keyboard, and beside me, Bo mouths, “ Pretend you’re only singing to me .”

Yes. That, I can do. I close my eyes and picture the Sing Note, the scent of pulled pork sliders and sweet, sticky cocktails. The feeling of singing with Bo thrums through me.

With my eyes closed, I picture the songs, the blocking.

I picture K doing all of this. He made it look effortless, but I knew how long he practiced every look in the mirror.

I don’t need that. I’m not him. I’m just me.

I look fucking amazing, thanks to Janelle.

And if Bo believes I can do this, I can.

So I open my eyes and sing.